Only Killers and Thieves(13)

Father lowered his hands and sucked his lips so tight the cheeks hollowed. “Your word about what?”

“Telling you. And that we wouldn’t go up there again.”

Silence save their breathing. Father’s gaze slid to Billy and back again.

“Sit down, the both of you. Mary, get back outside.”

“Me? What for? Billy already said what you lot found.”

“Ned,” Mother said gently. “She’ll only hear it after.”

He hesitated, then nodded at the chairs; they took the same places as for a meal. Father folded his arms and glowered at the two boys, eyes ticking between them, until they came to rest on Tommy, and Father said, “Right, then, let’s hear it. Everything that happened. Every word said.”

Billy answered, “We was hunting like we told you, but—”

“Not you,” Father said sharply. “Tommy, on you go.”

He could feel the others staring. Billy huffed in his chair. Tommy traced a finger around the knots in the table, the lines of the grain, cleared his throat, and began: “It’s like Billy said, we were hunting, chasing something through the trees, might have been a dingo or emu we thought but . . .”

He told them everything. The troopers, Noone, the warnings Sullivan gave. Hesitant and faltering in the telling, stumbling on the words, a struggle to tell it right somehow, to convey all they had seen, but nobody interrupted or tried to hurry him on. They sat in total silence, Father listening gravely, his chin resting on his chest, breathing through his nose. When Tommy told of how the captive had been put down, Mother clicked her tongue and shook her head; beside her, Mary leaned eagerly on the table, lost in the tale, her gaze distant, watching it all somewhere. Billy wasn’t so attentive. He nibbled the skin on the side of his thumb and held himself tightly with the other arm, and hardly seemed to be listening at all.

Silence followed the confession. They all waited for Father to speak. He unfolded his arms and laid his hands on the table and stared at them a long time. He turned to Billy. “And you didn’t think any of this was something I should know?”

“I figured Mr. Sullivan was only stirring the pot.”

“So you’re protecting me now, is that it? Sparing my feelings, Billy?”

“Spare you the trouble, is all.”

Father jabbed his thick finger into the table like a gavel. “Let me make one thing clear. John Sullivan is mine to worry about. Not yours. Or yours. Any of you so much as hears that bastard sneeze, you tell me about it, understand? Same goes for this Noone or anyone else. They’re rounding up natives yon side of our run and you stupid buggers don’t tell me? The hell’s wrong with you two?”

“What would you have done anyway?” Billy asked. “You always say to leave that sort of thing alone.”

“Aye, but that’s for me to decide, not you.”

“I just thought since they was police there must have been a proper cause.”

“Proper cause?” Mother said. “Come on now—have we raised you so dumb?”

“What kind of police has blacks in?” Tommy asked.

“No kind,” Mother said. “They’re killers, that’s all they are. Using blacks to hunt other blacks, it’s disgraceful. They should have been done with all that years ago. We’ve no need for them here.”

“So they’d not even done anything? Them natives?” Tommy said.

“Must have,” Billy answered. “Or why else was Noone there? Duffing or trespass, wasn’t that what Mr. Sullivan said?”

“And then it’s justified?” Mother asked him. “A man’s life for a cow, Billy?”

“Might be. If it was ours they were duffing we’d feel the same.”

“This ain’t about the cattle,” Father said. He slid his hands over the table and folded his arms again. “Fact is, John hunts blacks for sport. Hates them, the Kurrong especially—he’s been chasing them off his station since before you were born. Sees them no different than a crop farmer does rats. This Noone, it’s his job, it’s what they do. John’s been wanting more Native Police out this way for years. So fine, now he’s got them, but the last thing we want is to get ourselves caught up in some bloody black war.”

“Ned,” Mother scolded. “You can’t mean to let all this stand?”

“No, I’ll talk to him. John. We can’t be having bodies strung up by our creek.”

“Or anywhere, surely.”

“Black Police is still police, Liza. They aren’t going to stop for me.”

Billy said, “There wouldn’t be any trouble if they stayed on their own land.”

“The natives aren’t to blame, Billy,” Mother said.

“They were proper police, though,” Tommy said. “Had on real uniforms, even. Must have had some cause to do what they did.”

“Are you not listening?” Mother asked him. “What have we just told you?”

“Daddy?” Mary’s voice was like a needle, puncturing the room. “Why wouldn’t you let Joseph take them home? Why not lend him a horse?”

Father inclined his head and tried to smile. “Because then I’d be down a horse as well as a man, which would be even worse.”